PS 3525 
.E37 W5 
1917 
Copy 1 




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The Wicked House 

and other Poems 



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By A. GUSTAVUS MELTON 

Route 2 - - - Ellenboro, N. G. 



Tte Wicked House 

and otker Poems 

By A. GUSTAVUS MELTON 

witfi Sketch of Life 



Price 50 cents 



A. G. MELTON 

Route 2 - - . Ellenboro, N. C. 






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Copyrighted 1917 
By A. GUSTAVUS MELTON 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

The author of these Poems deems it 
wise to concisely write a short story of my 
life. This will relieve the curiosity of the 
reader, and enable him to read the follow- 
ing Poems with a prepared and pacified 
mind. A succinct autobiography will prop 
up the other work, and at the same time, 
I hope, leave no room for suspicion of con- 
spicuousness on the part of the author. 

I have no doubt but that every reader 
of this little Book will be appeased, to a 
certain extent, when he has learned when 
and where I was born. 

I shall ask my readers to not demand 
a detailed autobiography of my life and an 
exact chronological history of my forefath- 
ers; but to content themselves with my 
limited cognition of my ancestors, until 
I am more tediously informed. (Reasons 
could here be given for my unfamiliarity 
With my progenitors; but time and space 
will not permit) I am unlike the father of 
our country, George Washington, who 
could trace his lineage to William the Con- 
queror. Just here, I shall say that I have 
found little trouble in learning of my great, 
great, great grandfather, 'Sam Melton, 
who was a big boned, tall, and red faced 
man. He was a leading man in his neigh- 
borhood in his time. He married Peggie 
Daves and reared several children. 

I have been told that Burton Melton, 
my great, great grandfather, was a civil, 
Quiet man. Burton Melton married Lucin- 
da Walker. They were blessed with sev- 



eral children, who have been favored with 
health, and, as a result most all of them 
still survive. 

My grandfather, Columbus Mills Mel- 
ton, married Dissie Elizabeth Harrill. 
Four chidren were born to them as fol- 
lows: Susan Melton, Texanah Melton, 
Charlie G. Melton, and my father, Seth 
Thomas Melton. Columbus Melton died be- 
for he was very old, leaving a widow who 
later married Rhodes Glover. 

My father married Mary J. Green, the 
oldest daughter of S. D. Green and to 
them three children were born, Clarence 
T. Melton, George Emerson Melton, and 
Anson Gustavus Melton. The angel of 
death saw fit to call father and mother 
and my only two brothers home before I 
was old enough to remember them. Thus 
I have drifted from home to home, living 
the life of an orphan. But I have never 
been able to flee from these words from 
grandfather: "Be sure you are right and 
then go ahead." He (S. D. Green) empha- 
sized another important factor, which 
clings to me yet, honesty. 

I, A. G. Melton, was born of the flesh 
Aug. 8, 1890, in Rutherford County, North 
Carolina, where all the above mentioned 
were born and reared, near Ellenboro. 

• I was born of the Spirit Dec. 14, 1913. 
Up to this time a volume of mistakes in 
my life could be written; but, to do so, is 
not only unpleasant, but unnecessary. Af- 
ter having been born of the Spirit, I imme- 
diately joined Walls Baptist Church. I, 



not being baptized until Aug. 4, 1914, re- 
ceived a recommendation from Walls 
Church, as a worthy young man entering 
the ministry, on same day of baptism. Af- 
ter this the Church gave me, on Sept. 27, 
(1914, license to preach without my request; 
but with my desire. 

A golden opportunity presented itself 
to me when I entered High School at 
Boiling Springs, N. C, where I was thrown 
in contact with very fine characters; 
where I was cared for by the considerate 
faculty chosen by the trustees of Boiling 
Springs High School, who represent care- 
fully and accurately the two God fearing 
Associations, Kings Mountain and Sandy 
'Run. From the date of entrance in school, 
Aug. 11, 1914, to Dec. 21, 1916, I lost little 
time with my books. On Dec. 21, 1916 I 
was forced to leave the school room (not 
according to my future aim) on account of 
declining health, having half finished the 
junior course. 

After having studied a few Poems in 
my sophomore year written by Henry W. 
Longfellow, John Greenleaf Whittier, Mat- 
thew Arnold, and James Russel Lowell, I, 
as an effervescent spring, bubbled over 
with ardent desire of expression; and 
wrote my first Poem on Dec. 9, 1915, en- 
titled "A Thought in School." This piece is 
not, however, found in this book. It was 
read by my English teacher. Prof. 0. P. 
Hamrick, to the three higher English class- 
es of the school, its author being anony- 
mous to pupils at that time. 



During my school days — I have as yet, 
not been called to be pastor of any church; 
but have had the privilege of doing evan- 
gelical work — I have tried to preach fifty- 
eight sermons at twenty-two different 
Churches and School Houses. I have help- 
ed in two revival meetings, one each sum- 
mer, in which sixty-six souls professed 
Christ. 

May I conclude this sketch by asking 
my readers to say with me: "It is good for 
us to be here. May God help us to be ever 
faithful. We believe Thy Word." 



BOILING SPRINGS HIGH SCHOOL 
Boiling Springs, N. C, 



Jan. 22, 1917. 
To whom it may concern. 

For several years I have intimately 
known Mr. A. G. Melton and I believe him 
to be absolutely truthful, honest, honora- 
ble, and upright in all his dealings. He is a 
man of deep convictions and is true to his 
convictions. A strong Christian man. 
Yours truly, 

J. D. HUGGINS. 



INTRODUCTION. 

These Poems have been written, with 
some exceptions, during spare time in 
school. They have been written because it 
was a duty of mine; because it was my de- 
light; because of inspiration given from 
God. My feeble prayer is: "May they ac- 
complish an uplift to man." 

"The Wicked House" was written, 
while at Boiling Springs, through effort 
and difficulty. The inspiration came in 
abundance on class and at night. Late and 
early lights were burned, taking care of 
revelation. 

The fundamental base for this poem is 
found on the oracle of John, the revelator. 
The author first thinks of John in the cave 
on the Isle of Patmos, and the masterful 
revelation given him, no doubt, the author 
thinks, by an angel from heaven. The ex- 
cited imagination began at the gratto, 
where John was; but later reaches a more 
specific verse of the revelation. Rev. 3:20, 
where an outburst of imagination inflamed 
my mind with burning desire to express 
the thought. 

It will be noticed that my eye makes 
three trips to the unknown world. More- 
over it will be noticed that, on the second 
trip, the eye sleeps three days and nights; 
and dreams three dreams. The coming 
out of the wicked house, where Christ 
continually knocks, and the short story of 
the ear marks the close of, if such should 
be its name, the metrical tale. 



Some things of interest might be said 
about the other miscellaneous Poems or 
ballads. I remember that "The Bumble 
Bee" and "The River" were both written 
the same day, July 19, 1916. 



'THE WICKED HOUSE." 



Once there an angel came to a lonely cave. 
How far, may it have flown o'er land and 

sea! 
From whence it came we think, we hope 

we know. 
That trip was made a long, long time ago. 
When we were yet to be, and yet to see. 
And yet we were, and still we are, and on 
And on, we shall and will forever be. 
The rolling, rolling time says, 'men be 

wise.' 
Just think how quick this Holy angel made 
That trip. The last from the bare and rug- 
ged Isle 
To us, was made in haste to tell the same 
Old story with a tender loving smile. 
Hush! hush!! here is the messenger of 

Him 
Who sent to John, the divine, the dream of 

light. 
The servant of the Christ content to be 
Alone in thought, in deed where we should 

be, 
When we forget to think, to act, or pray. 
This angel was and is so kind and pure. 
Till men feel like, when she is near, they 

are 
So mean, so rough that they aren't fit to 

live. 
By far is He, Who sent the angel to 
The grotto in the ground of that South 

hill. 
Above the chief of angels. Then, how low 



Should we kneel down to Him in faith and 

love? 
The apocalyptic book has base enough 
For worlds of men on which to place their 

feet. 
It has enough of thought to fill our souls, 
To make us think as did the divine of old; 
Still even more, if we'd observe his theme. 
This great, great thinker has done made 

his trip. 
Oh how bitter was his way! tho' he went 

on 
Thro' tears, and fears, and cares, to live 

his years. 
Woud we a roll like him behind us leave, 
We too, would live in two worlds, I know, 

at least. 
Let us give ear to his God given dream 
And step by step we'll walk the Holy path. 
I see where John has gone, his track so 

plain, 
Till we may with all ease go up, and up. 
We may for a long time, go up with no 

pain. 
But tho', at last, in the final end of the 

race. 
Like JuHus Caesar, reaching English 

shores. 
Have to fight in water stain'd with our 

own blood. 

John saw the Christ as he stood by the 
door 

Of that old weather beaten, lonesome 
house 

When He in grief to us cried out, "Behold". 
He is still saying with a graceful gesture, 

10 



"Behold." To split this word we'd have the 
"Be," 

The "Hold." May we be men of God that 
we 

May stand a storm of snow, of hail or 
wind; 

May we be what we are, if right in Christ. 

So be, where you ought to be, and when, 
like men. 

And after you have been, and aim to be. 

Do get the macron part of the word, be- 
hold. 

We see to be, the breve. Now let us hold 

And hold and hold, be faithful unto death, 

That we may reap a rich and glorious end. 

That we may feast on boundless, endless 
love. 

Be like the besieged Londonderry men. 

When they were in the terrible hour of 
gloom. 

When they were minus things to eat save 
hides. 

When they heeded the proclaimer of the 
Gospel 

And said that we will ope no gate to foe. 

We too, if we be firm, shall see the fleet. 

Hold on, hold is the cry of Christ the Lord. 

'Hold on till death and get a crown of life. 

May we hold on like the weak and strug- 
gling cock. 

When he has hook'd his clinging, hopeful 
beak 

Of burning asperation on the fence. 

He flops his weary wings, and scratches 
with 

His bleeding, painful feet, till he, at last. 
Is on the fence to crow, "Hold on, hold on." 

11 



Now let us cast our wavering eye on 
Him 

Who said, "Behold, I stand at the door and 
knock." 

I'm glad He says, I stand; and not I stood. 

He, who stands at the door and knocks, 
must tire. 

If He be at the door, how near is He? 

The kingdom is at hand. May we give eye 

That He may not find us asleep when He 
comes. 
Now I would have you look again at 
Him, 

As He in suffering knocks at this old door 

Of the house of scorn, of hate, of waste 
and fear. 

Away out yonder is this house amid 

A snaky, dismal, weedy, desolate place. 

Where no one else would go but the merci- 
ful Christ. 

Oh, how pitiful is He when we see Him 

With an aching hand and side, still knock- 
ing at 

The miserable, and wretched door; no an- 
swer. 

This knock, the key to every door, is the 
one. 

The only one that can unlock the door. 

The hinge of this sad door is clog'd with 
rust. 

It needs some oil, some exercise to ope. 
We have, I'm glad, an omnipresent God. 

He knocks at every door of man, the 
house. 

But note, He's not in the house where sin 
is yet; 

God does not live in the life of sinful men. 

12 



He winds them up as we wind up the clock; 
They run till they are down as does the 

clock. 
If we His voice do hear, how may we ope 
The door? We should come out in haste 

of the tree. 
We're in the garret of this sinful house, 
I fear. The door is on the bottom floor. 
Give ear; the bolt is not at top of door. 
It is low enough for even crawling men 
To reach. If we let in the humble Christ, 
We must be like the creeping strawberry 
Vine. This no doubt will ope the door of 

rust. 
We sh'd bathe our bended knees in nature's 

dust. 
And dig down deep to find the solid rock; 
We sh'd use a heavy pick to reach the rock. 
When we solidify ourselves on Christ, 
We change as from a cotton felt to steel. 
Who is the prizer at the cruel door? 
We sh'd study tap roots; and not the tops 

of trees. 
God. knocks as long as man on Earth does 

live, 
As long as He can hear a click of life. 
This sinful house is crammed with 

rogues and sots; 
Already they are among the snakes and 

bones 
Of death, I see the skeletons stack'd up 
In piles as scraps of iron rails and bones, 
I see the thoughtless, heedless, lost, lost 

men. 

As they mingle with the frame works of 
Hell. 

Among these bones I see the sinner's soul, 

13 



Traversing thro' the shattering skulls of 

death. 
It's sad for the eye of Christian men to flee 
Into the halls of death and Hell, and walk 
The serpent streets of pain, of woes and 

sighs. 
I see the thief as he sits on the skull 
Of death with hie feet resting, where was 

once 
The seeing, sneaking eye. I see the vile 
Old gambler with his cards, his change 

and gun, 
As he sits in th« mouth of the abyss. 
The bottomless pit, the skull of endless 

fire, 
Erect, legs cross'd, on a crumbling, poison 

tush. 
Cigar in mouth with streams of floating 

smoke, 
Also with his cold heart in his flattering 

mouth. 
Up steps a man to this grey skull of death; 
Up gets the gambler from the tush of ruin, 
And walks out on the portico of this 
Platform of under teeth of this same skull 
To drag in the wayward man to die with 

him. 
The breath of Satan, flowing thro' the 

mouth 
Of skulls, has stain'd a many a boy and 

girl. 
His breath is like broad flames of fire and 

smoke. 
Which he spews out o'er the lands and 

seas of God. 
He emits beer and wine, drinks of every 

kind, 

14 



Profaner's of the word in blistering blazes 
Of blue, of green, of pale, of red, like blood. 

The setter in a lazy mood has sat 
On one of these hard teeth, till he has 

worn 
A slick and shiny place on the dreadful 

tusk. 
He is a drone, a blank; no good to Christ. 
Still further in the dragon's mouth I 
see 
A filthy hearted hypocrite almost 
A slipping off the crumbing banks of sand 
Into the home of the obdurated hearts. 
I see a subtle liar hanging in 
The upper teeth of this same skull as did 
The son of David in the boughs of an oak. 
God has the key to this old Earthly 
house, 
A Hell. He was and is, to day, at the door. 
He says, young man come out of this tor- 
ment. 
The house of deceptive bane, so said the 

Has streets made by the chief of scabby 
snakes ; 

They are a crooked trail thro' smoulder- 
ing ashes 

Of Hell. The chief of snakes with forked 
tongue, 

When he on his anatomic trip thro' this 
house, 

Having a fornicator betwixt the fork 

Of his tongue, met the next in fame, in 
size. 

The next in size had on the deathly smile, 

As he met face to face the chief, the king 

15 



Of Hell. These two big serpents toss'd by 

breath 
This man from mouth to mouth as would 

two men 
On a windy stormy day with spiky mitts 
Pass a ball. I cannot tell what this poor 

man 
Thought of as he from mouth to mouth did 

pass. 
I think he must have been, in the mouth 

of the chief, 
A fornicator, in the mouth of the next, 
A liar slick. He thought perhaps of how 
To tell another lie, to dodge reward. 
While passing thro' this heavy bitter mist 
Of adversity, unknown to him, to all 
In sin. This interval, is short between 
These mitts of goads, in which, he sleeps 

like Rip. 
For Pompey and his men look what did a 

lie; 
He landed on the Egyptian shore of death. 
In chaos yet is my eye, where is disdain, 
Where is contempt of every grade and 

style. 
And as it walks meandering streets of 

grief, 
I see a temple high afar before 
My eye with slanting stairway of dry 

bones ; 
Around this dome are downs of cinders 

hot. 

Like the sand-hills on the Isle of the lovely 
Palm. 

The skeptic is the guide to this base place. 
I see on every pier these words in big 

16 



Old serpent letters made: THE ATHE- 
IST'S HOME. 
It is true that I wonder, as my eye 
Steps up to this sin-deck'd dome, destruc- 
tive den. 
Who is in this grim place, eternal death? 
I look to my right and there is a room, 
Veneer'd with flames of sweeping, singing 

blazes, 
Floor'd with a hideous, furious, lava flow. 
Like melted glass in furnace ready for 
The mold, I see the babblers of the Earth. 
And on one foot each stands to rest the 

other. 
Too sad is this great sight for eye to see. 
My eye says please let me get on away? 
So on it goes, seems worse and hotter still; 
Anon the rear is reach'd by eye, at last. 
I gaze out o'er the vast eternity 
Of myriads of volcanic craters 'live, 
As I stand on the verge of this back door; 
And I see just in front near by the mouth 
Of a mountainlike volcano, hurling snake 
Coil'd men from it as sparks of fire from 

chimn'y. 
Observing closer still, — and jumping back 
As I cast my eye in the mouth of this sad 

scene ! — 
I see all shapes of men hung up, stove up 
In the walls of this gummy, burning mouth 
of sin. 

As soot^ — made by rich pine — clings to a 
stove-pipe. 

Now turns my eye to leave the rear of 
decay; 

But before the front is reach'd— I think 
■ how large 

17 



Might be this building of the waste of 

death — 
I see — Old Satan has a trip made thro* 
These parching walls of Iniquity and 

crime, 
Since my grief stricken, cheerless eye cast- 
down, 
Had trod in the horror cursed large corri- 
dors — 
By side the other words, THE ATHEIST'S 

HOME, 
Which, were the best snake calligraphy I 

saw. 
Another sign, new one, found in the tracks 
Of Satan, where he touch'd his poison feet, 
Last sign: THE FLOOD OF OIL WILL 

COME TONIGHT. 
While Satan winds and climbs the walls of 

this house. 
He shows the world in print just what he 

is. 
He has a busy press with type in trim. 
His feet relate the story of his life 
In tracks. We read the autobiography 
Of men in their tracks as we behold nail 

prints 
In tracks in snow. — May we not have blank 

feet. — 
The flood of oil will come tonight. How 

sad! 
This is a sweet and happy thought to think 
A deluge is coming for to wash away 
Their pain. They think the wrong; still 

worse; still worse. 
I take no time for nooning in these walls. 
I only have enough of time to take 
A peep at them as they do eat their food, 

18 



My eye goes down a thousand feet to see 

The wailing host around the table of 

A fire. Their food is corkscrews, broken 

glass, 
And iron banded kegs. Upon one keg 
I see the salt, the slugs of melting cast. 
Repast they have, repast, the sad, the bad 
♦This food too good for lawless, careless 

men. 
Their rest at noon is kicking loose their 

hands 
And feet in nets of electric wires of pain 
As does a fly, when caught in spider's 

web. 
Near by the lattice of these living wires 
There is a hole in wall like gnot holes in 

plank. 
In which, there comes the wasp, the bum- 
ble-bee, 
The hornet, and the honey bee to sting 
These men. These pests increas'd a thou- 
sand fold 
In size. To while away the afternoon, 
When out the web of wires, they find 

their hands 
Behind them ti'd in dark and nightly 

places. 
Prom these deep pits they are drawn up 

with ropes 
To await the evening meal before the flood. 
When supper has its end they lose their 

breath. 
One is permitted to go out and search 
For breath. He turns o'er every burning 
plow 

And stone in vain in search for breathing 
air. 

19 



Back to his comrade with his choking 

voice 
He comes to tell the history of his trip. 
Now comes the dark, which is the flood 

of oil; 
Be it high or low or rough or mild; death 

is yet. 
As night comes on — their day is night to 

us — 
I see the infernal chief of the angels of 

Hell 
With rod of iron welded to the leg 
Of a man, it being flexible with heat, 
Him jumping here and there like bug on 

string. 
Up, down on rod I see the bear, the lion. 
Traversing to and from the surging man 
To knife him with an angry, craving tush. 
This man when loose is being swallowed 

up 
By morbid, crafty waves of kerosene. 
The Devil's hand, which holds the supple 

rod. 
Is a lion's den thro' which all demons pass. 
The sly and inexpressible waves of oil 
Slips up like a thief or whisper to drown 

him. 
He climbs to tops of trees ; at first he gains 
Some feet; but flood so swift he's caught 

by wave. 
This the annual conflagration that 
Increases their pain by rising tides of 

death. 
Just as the trees are cover'd with the 

waves. 
This man a caldron sees a floating by 

20 



In which were men, the Kings of the Earth, 

who were 
Swimming in boiling, tumbling oil with 

snakes ; 
And reaches with his doleful, aching hand 
To grasp its helve to ride the merciless 

wave. 
I see him as he sits on his hot seat, 
His hair converted into a waving blaze. 
Combing his tangled blazes with a pitch- 
fork. 
His smile is lost, at first, at last, and now. 
He had no hope, he has no hope; nor can; 
His peace is a continual cry in sobs and 

tears ; 
He has no life, no faith, no light, no God. 
His visions are of deeper graves in Hell. 
No never can he reach where evergreen 
Does grow; where plants are kiss'd with 

heaven's dew; 
Where life does roam from sea to sea, and 

land 
To land; where God is smiling with His 

beams 
Of bountiful light, his words of soothing 

love. 
With shining face among the hosts of 

Earth. 
I also see in the great sea of flame. 
Where misery is supreme; where wrath 

does reign, 
A baleful ship of dearth and slumbering 

peace 
In which are men of dreary speech; in 

which 
Are men full of the ire of Satan's tongue. 

21 



They float the lake of fire with vengeful 
aim 
To scale declivities of hate and shame, 

To mark the liquid foam of damnable waste 

With marks of faithless pilots, who can't 
cease. 

Their job is — at the end of our imagina- 
tion — 

To measure these wild simmering, endless 
seas 

With tape so short we barely see with eye. 

Thro' darkest Hell they go from pole to 
pole. 

It matters not how hot or cold the clime 

May be; how little work or much there is. 

They're flung in dusky, steaming, wrest- 
less seas. 

Like huge stones leaping down the moun- 
tain side 

With bouncing sparks as lightning bugs at 
night. 

They are forever lost on stormy seas, 

Where bottomless sheol drinks their hearts 
of crime. 

This vast tempestuous deep puts forth a 
smile. 

As sour as the clouds of smoke from the 
railway train 

Is black. Reluctant is this stay in Hell. 

I will not tell just here — My eye comes out 

Of Hell — ^how joyous is its trip to bliss. 
My longing eye comes back again from 
whence 

It came. It says, "I saw a boat with hole 

In it, small hole. — ^That same old rocking 
ship 

22 



That had so many fiends." —Some men to- 
day- 
Find one sin, only one, in their dear hearts; 
They travel on, at last they sink, so heavy! 
"Now poor eye ! must you go back to that 

place 
Of exciting horror?" "Yes." "Ah, ah! but you 
May loose your sight, when you shall reach 

the home 
Of vipers, where Beelzebub is chief." 

Away my eye goes strolling back to take 
Another look at desolation, to 
, Search out this place, that I may have a 

theme. 
My lingering eye, as it persues its path; 
As it forgets itself on flowery way, 
Where righteousness is blooming every day; 
Where aim no lower than the highest 

mount'n 
Peak; where success is sure, if we but act. 
Stops, looking all around, and says, "What 

peace ! 
I must soar high like hawks, when havoc I 
Reach. Why shall I do this? too bad, too 

bad." 
A spirit good says, "Sweet perfumes have 

you 
About your being; you must not get near; 
For Hell must not inhale a pleasant fume." 
How pleasing is my eye; some sweetness 

will 
Accompany me in dreary worlds unknown. 
Then glibly walks my eye to gulf between; 
But on this meadowy journey, gradually 
There comes an easier walk. — I dread this 

tour. 

A morning glory, being by the way, 



Tho, wilt'd, seems to say, as it looks up 
Into my face, "Will you come back this 

way?" 
Proclivities, now with force, incline my eye 
To tell to men, how much the flower did. 
Lo! high in air, I find myself in joy; 
Pm standing on the graceful, flower's smile. 
Would we but speak a motherly word in 

smiles 
To weeping souls as they go by in tears 
To vast eternities unknown to us. 
We'd shout profoundest joy, while here be- 
low; 
We'd soothe our wrestless, throbbing, dole- 
ful hearts. 
Yet not have I crept o'er this gulf between ; 
But near. Ere I can cross the rusty door 
Thro' lofty air, there comes a hungry man 
Who says, "Stop, stop"! The speeding eye 

stabs feet 
In ground; with wonder looks! When calm, 

it says, 
"I shall be glad to comfort your poor soul 
By going to your home to get you bread." 
Tho' busy is the eye it stops its trip. 
And grasps a burden that it may not reach 
Its goal without a load like the foolish five. 
"Back where I was" so says the eye, 

"again" — 
Between these lines we read excelsior deeds. 
Near by; the tipping foot, almost to gulf, 
Almost on silent way, is, to last track. 
The first we know, we find ourselves in 

death ; 
We sleep in deedless arms, like finger rings. 
Only to wag a load of sin up hills 

24 



Of gnashing teeth; up hills of flaming 

tongues, 
Which, have no plains, no trees to which to 

cling. 
No tops that we can find, no peace, no end. 
My eye can tell — Experience is its ground — 
Of tours of distant lands both good and bad. 
What it shall say, it will, no doubt, be true. 
The story is from deepest depth of heart. 
It says, "When Fm in yonder world of craze, 
Coming out of this heathen land, my legs 
Entirely are too short; but going in. 
They are by far too long— May we go right ! 

My eye is now at gulf, deciding how 
Long to stay in death's house; and gazing 

o'er 
The steaming pots of punishment: no fear; 
But dread. In solemn thought stood I at 

door 
Of death, of ruin, of pain, where is disease, 
To turn my back on heaven's grandest land; 
To turn my back on Satan's strongest foes. 
When dread familiarize'd itself with me; 
When it had made a skyrocket in my 

mind — 
I wish, I pray that I may have some aid, 
While on this foreign trip thro' fretful 

spirits — 
In sudden flight, there came thro' starlit air 
These words of ease: "Reach up your with- 
ering hand; 
You're not so heavy but that you can hold 
Your weight, when lifted up from magnet 

Earth." 

Up goes my hand in haste, and it is caught; 
And I am hoisted up, where all is smooth. 
Above the worlds so high, I float behind 

25 



This wandering wind like life boats behind 

a ship. 
While it is cutting, splitting midnight air 
With speed, tremendous speed, a million 

times 
As fast as wireless telegram o'er seas, 
I cast astonishing eye on helmsman of 
The fleeting, scaling, harmless, graceful 

wind ; 
I hear ambition plundering in his heart, 
Which, seems to speak to the tireless wind, 
"With all this speed, we have not caught 

our best; 

wind! roll on, go on, press on, live on." 
When I am at my journey's end, I think 

As fast as thought can go; for moments I 
Muse o'er the observation of my ride ; 

1 utterly fail in thought to give these scenes. 
Remember do I, as resorb'd I pure 

Air of the richest make, the finger prints, 
Which were so deeply, coarsely made on 

ropes 
That flutter'd aloof at rear of darting wind. 
The lesson is for us to get just here: 
Can we a sign make known of having borne 
The burdons of men, till they have retained 
Their finger prints on our unburdon'd 

backs? 
Do burdons cHng to us by day, by night? 
With I have made the lengthy trip thro* 

air. 
Like Christ in love, Who, steps from orb to 

orb, 
I start to write the gift, the next in mind. 
The page, en which I write, below is blank; 
But ready is it to hear from my soul; 
But ready is it to bear up the weight 

26 



Of slowly running lines, to hand my thought 
To neighbors far and near, abroad each 

year. 
Before we pencil thought in mind, we feel 
Our need of Godly aid to arouse our mind. 
In brevity we strike the line, the trail 
Of thought to walk, step by step, to its end; 
To oil the trail with every high ideal 
I can — May we see in our hearts a grove 
Of highest trees, root'd in the pools of love, 
Branching far each way in a clime of lovely 

spring, 
With singing birds to cheer their wavering 

boughs. 
Almost I reach the Hne that I must track. 
Though it seems as if my arm is too short. 
Too small. Away from line we swerve, we 

miro. 
Could I but tip my foot to line, Fd walk. 
When wandering wind has lightly smitten 

the home 
Of shame with dangling legs of secluded 

eye; 
When it has passed on thro' endless ages 
In the Holy orbit of the forsaken Christ, 
I have three days to spend among the tombs 
Of everlasting, never ending death; 
I take the time, while standing in the bogs 
Of mucky plagues, to look o'er airless head 
Thro' atmosphere of the angry bottomless 

deep. 
Surprise is not to me when I behold 
The sunless day, the starless, moonless night. 
Oh! gloom!! an awful gloom!!! from which 

flinch. 
Again my eye is forc'd to see the graves 

27 



Of anatomies, wide, and long, and deep. I 

see 
At distance men with fire tipp'd picks of sin, 
Digging in bursting, popping stones of heat, 
Casting them out with blistering hands of 

dread. 
When I draw near, they see me not, nor 

hear; 
They stumble thro' necropolis o'er tombs 
Of diabolic fops, and cheats, and crooks. 
I see in midst of this grave yard a host 
Of granite cutters, tiring with long days. 
With chisels extremely dull, a long time ago. 
Round which, including graves, a border 
Of glistening, flaming swords and piercing 

spears. 
The longer they burn, the hotter, bigger the 

blaze. 
Like scar on babe; as he grows, so does the 

scar. 
I'm now content to find myself at brake 
Of day, tiptoing in a large rough grave; 
Because of gloaming only, looking for 
The light. I am unable to tell how I 
Got in the leviathan's grave the eve before. 
My eye, I, wonders how could I have been 
Put here without me knowing how it was. 
My eye is now awake: it finds that it 
Entirely was mistaken ; that it, in 
Place of one night of sleep, had slept three 

days; 
That it, in place of having been plac'd there 
In a mistic way, was driven by mean men, 
Remembering all about the bitter cup. 
This sleep was not a sleep of rest and peace. 
My eye climbs up the walls; and as it sits 

28 



With feet a hanging off the banks of grave, 
Begins recalling his dream that awaits 
His pen. A gazing man stands near to fret ; 
But he holds mind right on his dream de- 
spite 
The gazer's quests, his mocks, and sarcas- 
tic smiles. 
About this time my eye finds that it has 
No time to pen its dream, relieve its mind; 
For it has cast a wistful eye in the far 
Away East and seen azure sky unfolding 
Its arms to that unimagionable speedy wind. 
When eye had said "I", — "Yes. Get on," said 

wind. 
Intention was of eye to say, "I want to ride." 
Again I look for steersman; he stands in 
The front; he still is nervous, more than he 
Had ever been before; he is as you 
Can't hope to think, a going faster than 
He came. The eye can easily say, "Too 

slow." 
The velocity of electricity is, 
Compar'd to this great wind, a sickly snail. 
As it is passing Neptune I loose grip 

Of mighty wind; but I, like a car from 
train, 

Have up so much speed till I breathlessly 
Scale on to maiden, Earthlit moon, where I 
Touch speedy feet to Tycho ; where I 'm un- 
known ; 
Where I intend to tell my dream; where I 
Expect to rest in calm repose, and talk 
Face to face with the lunar, tranquil globe. 
But she must say: "I have no air for you 
To breathe; I'd like to keep you here and 
hear 

29 



Your dream. You will find life and air at 

next 
Stop, Satellite; she'll give you what you 

need." 
Again comes wandering wind to draw me 

up 
From such unfriendly grounds to take me 

on, 
Where I think I don't want to go ; but when 
I get, to glittering star, or there, I find 
Just what I want; I find a stool, a desk, 
A pen — You know at least I have a friend. 
The porter says with joyful face to me : 
*I am so blad to have you at our Inn, 
And as to your dream We'll gladly hear it 

told; 
Moreover we'll be glad to soothe your mind, 
As you write, with every voice of cheer we 

can. 
Lo, and behold! I turn my head from desk, 
As chair turns too, "I have instead of one 

dream. 
Three." He in softest tone, "Dream on" he 

says. 
I, turning back to desk and feeling so 
Much welcome that I could not hardly 

write. 
Only with treatment kind to overcome. 
Begin to tell as follows lines below. 
"My dear most humble Earth: — I in re- 
mote 

And foreign lands, as seated in a snug 
And beautiful room of flowers, red and blue, 
In Paradise, if such can be ; it can. 
No other purpose than to write to you, 
Inclosing dream had in abominable 

30 



Hell, when I was absent from the Earth, my 

home, 
Sweet home, a heaven for all who wills it. 
Let dream be short or long or good or bad, 
I make inception here in shades cf night. 
Which, wrap their silent arms of peace and 

rest 
Around my soul of toil, extolling me, 
A building up the mountain peaks of aim. 

"0 Earth! I saw you being roll'd around 
On plains of space, like a marble on the 

ground. 
About you were other spheres; some less, 

some not; 
They loved you; for they would reach all 

hands 
For your sweet clusters of the growing 

vines 
Of happiness; they would give comely 

smiles, 
When your blown breath was near their 

daunted faces, 
Which, was a drapery for their lifeless 

cheeks. 
Tho' you were rolling here and there among 
The masses of the stars, the moons, the 

suns, 
I went to you in haste to see if you 
Were ready to quit your big rolling game, 
Lest you might get a bump and hurt your- 
self. 
Earth says: "Fll roll; I cannot stop; for 

time 
Says, "Now or never ; never then ; today." 

"I saw the maiden moon in silvery dress. 
As she came stepping lightly to the Earth 

31 



With dry tears tumbling down her volcanic 

face 
With weak and feeble heart. I read these 

words 
In her face, as she creeps up to the Earth: 
"0 florist, Earth! I've lost my all, my 

breath ; 
I find that man can't live by bread alone; 
He isn't like the frogs and fishes of the sea. 
But he must have a cool and pleasant drink 
Of air"— "The Godly air is best of all" 
Was quickly spoken by the righteous Earth. 
"Had I the gases like those of yours. I'd rear 
A great and stalwart family for our Lord 
And Christ ; I would increase the number of 
The saints; I'd feed them with the victuals 

of 
The juicy fruit of Adam's best select ; 
I'd rain the mild and gentle summer rain ; 
I'd flood their fields with corn, with wheat 

and oats. 
Their woods with cows, with sheep, with 

swine; that they 
Might eat and sleep when bitter winter 

would 
Come with its rains, its hails, its sleets, and 

snows — " 
Ha, ha! they'd write the most beautiful 

"SNOW-BOUNDS." 
"I saw the moon, when she had gone 

away 
From Earth, back to her native nest of 

silence, 
Go off into repose and sleep, until 
The sun of TIME was swinging far o'er in 
The West, preparing for a sad sun-set; 
No other cause we find, but that she slept. 

32 



She rose for her morning meal; Behold, 
'Tis eve ! she wash'd her wrinkly fading face 
And comb'd her hoary tangled hair with 

frail, 
And peaceless, slender, thin, remorseful 

hands. 
When quick and scanty meal was had, I 

saw 
Her, stick in hand, go crippling out into 
The mighty deep to draw from the wells of 

air 
A pail of gas of peace of joy of life. 
That she might furnish, yet, some breath 

for men. 
I saw her tottering stumbling 'long o'er 

orbs 
Of brilliant hope; and just before she 

reach'd 
The wells, I saw her fall. — Of course the 

Earth 
Stretch'd forth her helping hand of life and 

light 
And put the humpback maid on feet again. 
She, then, with dragging feet went on to 

wells 
To draw the pail of gas; and yet be saved. 
She forced a smile as bucket nethered to 
The bottom of the well. The sad part is 
The bucket had a lavish hole in it. 
She drew so miserably slowly that her gas 
Had found its way back, from whence it 

had come. 
Just so with us; we turn the windless of 
Repentance, watchfulness so slow, that 

when 
We are touch'd by the icy hands of death, 
We too have lost the pail of life and joy. 

33 



I rest my pen and ink a moment for 
To get a recreation that I may 
Make plain to Earth the dream I must have 

had 
The second day or night. Unseating myself, 
Withdrawing from the apartment for a 

time, 
I fondly walk to front of inn, the way 
Being adorn'd with beautiful rugs and mats, 
They being almost hidden by low swinging 
Sweet flowers of the tenderest grown in pit ; 
When front is reach'd I found a hammock 

swung 
On piazza in a golden clime of spring 
In which I plunged. Around me sits the 

birds, 
Uplifting me by song, that thrills my heart 
With notes of cheer, unspeakable cheer. 

Methinks 
I hear their tiny hearts in softest tones 
Speak gently to the atmosphere thes» 

words : 
"Delay no time however pleasant the clime." 
These kindly spoken words immediately 
Raise up my easy head and find me soon, 
Back at my writing desk with no fatigue. 
Oh that we'd let the tender hearted birds 
Build nests in our hearts as thick as flies 

with words 
Like these! I leave the porch with belt of 

birds. 
On palisades to hide myself in thought 
And write the second dream of the second 

trip. 

Which, was had in the torrid zone of Hell, 
In grave where decaying fangs were pillows 
for 

34 



My agonizing head. — Tho* died I not. 
This prelude now steps aside to hear the 

dream. 
"Most noble Earth, while Dixie sings her 

sonfi:s 
Of freedom, liberty, prosperity, 
And peace, will you give ear to my middle 

dream? 
Do not forget the first; don't fail to remem- 
ber this. 
"On that same sleeping tour of three long 

days 
And nights, I dream'd a dream. There must 

have been 
A serpent sitting on my head. I think, 

Earth, 
He made me dream the dream. Earth, 

you tell 
Those refulgent sons of yours that when 

they stand 
On a wet dish rag the water will come 

forth. 
"I dream'd I saw the aboriginal babe, 
Adam, the protasis of the drama of 
Mankind, where patronomatology got 
Its spring. My eye pass'd o'er a road that 

has 
Been wander'd o'er by many a man ; and as 
Soon as their eyes were there, they thought, 

no doubt. 
That Adam was and is the first human soul. 
That much is true. But back of him was 

God, 
The Was, The AM, and SHALL BE, the 

Father, Son, 
And Holy Ghost, perhaps. Who, wav'd his 

hands 

35 



Thro' new made air and wept with joy o'er 

Earth. 
When God had made all else, He saw fit to 
Make man, the worst and best of all He 

made. 
He made man in the simplest possible form 
And breath'd the breath of life into his 

nostrils. 
And he became a living perfect soul. 
He plac'd him in the indescribable Eden, 
The mother of our Earth, a paradise, 
Where flow'd the waters of the Pison and 
The Gihon, Hiddekel and Euprates rivers. 
The zenith of Adam's happiness was had 
Just after he awoke from that deep sleep. 
The next step for patronomatologists 
Can be had here in the name, our mother 

Eve, 
We think the beautifulest that had, yet, 

been. 
Hark! lo! in crept the burnt — ^back, subtle 

serpent 
Of Hell to strike the blow of the human 

race; 
Then came first grave for disobedient man. 
"I saw on the white and lovely plains of 

Eden 
A chromolithograph of all the future. 
Of God, the Trinity, the Pillar of 
The universe, it being under shades 
Of gentle fruitful trees, the heaven's best. 
But before I had read all thereon, I heard 
The first clock striking, so I turn'd around 
To see what it was; I saw three hands on 
This clock; they were to measure time, the 

first. 

36 



No time had pass'd, till a million clicks were 

gone. 
Oh that we might be the jewels of this 

clock ! 
A litte later you will find some oth'r 
Time pieces; but they will soon run down 

ana die. 
I read on face of this great clock these 

words : 
'Some day these rivers could be easily 

fiird 
With tears from posterity of Adam's sons.' 

"And as the attraction of a magnificent 
And marvelous steed drew me away, I had 
Only time 'nough to read from face of 

clock 
(Among the sad disasterous writings, which 
Were innumerable — too bad to read) these 

words : 
'One hand will many hundred years from 

now 
Be dropp'd, and swallowed up in Satan's 

mouth.' 
This prophecy was read while running to 
That golden, glistening horse, which had 

grown large 
So quick. The closer to the horse, the bigger 
He was. The steed's name was time, speedy 

time. 
On which our father Adam drew the first 
Rein, when he was pure, young. Before this 

steed 
Took flight, I saw the Lord a holding him 
By reins, till Adam was large 'nough to 

ride. 
"The saddle of this horse was padd'd and 

stitch'd 

- 37 



With Eden fruits; and girded with the 

streams 
Of un variable gentleness; bedeck'd with 

tree 
Of life which's full of artists, poets, and 

bards ; 
Bedewed with drippings from the honey- 
comb 
Of eternal glory; wall'd with honeysuckle 
And blooming roses; spray'd with mist 

from fount, 
The heart of God. The stirrups were the 

hands 
Of God ; the leathern seat was His burdon'd 

back; 

The blanket was Jehovah's cushioned feet. 

The skillful saddler was our father Adam; 

But by no means was he tied to the saddle. 

"To complete the rigging of Eden, the 

saddle of 
That sprinting steed of time; the great All 

Wise, 
All powerful God, when He had made the 

flower 
Of man from Adam's rib, bethought Him- 
self 
Of heaven's archangel, deeming it wise to 

send 
Him with the rich rosebud thro' silent air 
(A stream of light, a mist of love, a streak 
Of beauty were the tracks made on the 

celestial 
Air by this angel) to the garden of 
Eden. Now that she had tenderly entered 

Eden 
With Adam — Doubtless both were happy 

then — 

38 



She found that she had mounted a steed 

of time. 
No doubt — ^in my mind — they had a smiling 

face; 
No doubt there smiles did radiate before 
The eyes of this great steed of time as does 
The head light of a train in dead hours of 

night. 
They saw while riding this swift horse of 

time 
The sweet fruits of Eden swinging o'er 

their path — 
God spread a blanket of sugar under trees 
As He in winter does our lands with snows. 
"Both man and woman are our father 

Adam. 
It was the dilated rib of Adam's side 
That jumped up from saddle with the skill 

of a knight 
To seize the forbidden fruit — And it she got. 
Not strange, when she lit, back on horse, 

bare-back. 
She failed to observe the lightning speed 
Of horse. The wind blew and she shook, like 

plume 
On lady's hat. How many moments I 
Know not till Adam did the same. He too 
Had let the saddle go by, while in air. 

"The agile steed still had the saddle on 
Its back; but empty of human souls it was. 
These two time riders could not hope to get 
In saddle 'gain. I think they would do well 
To even get into its umbrage ; for 
They had done wrong. I saw them sitting 

on 
The backbone of the horse to be jolted thro* 

39 



Their life. They need'd no spur, no switch, 

nor whip 
To make their trip. Their horse had lengthy 

wind; 
He had the light race-horse shoes; he had 

large 
Windpipe and nostrils; but no stop nor 

corns. 
He had an excellent head and flashing eyes. 
His respiration was like that of fat hog 
In August noon sun. He took no time to 
Paw, prance, or play. He kept on going 

with 
The excomunicated two, let them 
Be sad or glad ; he kept the time with breath 
And sung with feet; his main and tail could 

not 
But stand straight with a quivering trem- 
ble, nor 
Coud he but hear the cries, the groans, and 

moans 
Of Adam and Eve. He knew who it was on 
His back ; he knew their destin'd end of life. 
I saw Adam pulling back on reins, but he 
Check'd not. He was no dwarf. He sped on 

before. 
We can not stop the steed; but we can 

guide 
Him right or left — Keep his daring eyes on 

Christ. 
"I saw their fading smiles ; their sightless 

eyes, 
As they themselves did hide behind a tree. 
Filled, no doubt, with figs of sweetest 

flavor; 
As they deprived the tree of its pure leaves 
To hide the unhideable blackness of a sin. 

40 



I saw their fingers bleeding while they 

sew'd 
The leaves of stainless trees to shield a sin. 
Their drooping eyes would look no longer 

up; 
They felt deep down in heart the throes of 

death : 
Their speech was frail; their ears were 

deaf; their life 
Was short; their hopes were none; their 

deeds were done. 
Oh, didder did they when Jehovah came 
In cool of day! — He brought no glass to en- 
large 
This speck of sin found in the garden of 
The bliss^ — a calling Adam 'Where art 

thou?' 
In faltering voice they said 'We've sin'd a 

sin.' 
Adam soon found that sweat of face would 

make 
A healthy crop of corn and wheat and oats. 
His face produced a crop of sweat each day; 
His grubbing hoe was sleek with toiling 

hands ; 
He dug a thousand digs before he heard 
The dinner bell. Then he with watering 

lips 
Left field of roots, of stumps, of trees, and 

rocks 
To dine. I saw the drops of sweat pass by 
His eating mouth, they seem'd to say to 

bread : 
*I bought you on that old, rough stumpy 

hill; 
You're welcome here.' They pass on to his 

chin 

41 



And on to floor to await next day for more. 
The reader must conjecture what Eve did, 
While Adam dug in field to get their grub. 

"Just here I went to library, and there 
I dust'd my knees in dust; and rising from 
Them, I reach'd high upon the highest shelf 
Of knowledge ; soon my hand was burdoned 

with 
First volume of the books. My eye was 

caught. 
And down I sat to muse o'er printed truth. 
Therein I found great slugs of inspiration; 
They swung to every leaf as numerous as 
The minutes of the day. I got a glimpse 
Of future while Fs reading that great book ; 
I saw before our mother Eve a tear, 
Which she didn't see till it had tumbled 

down 
Her hectic cheek. Its harum-scarum look 
Produc'd a hazardous feeling in my heart. 
'Tis poised on a wave of precious blood 
Not far from her benignant face and eye. 
It shown the rays of death, the gleams of 

ruin. 
"Behind this tear I saw a tender smile, 
Which drove away the poison air of tear. 
Not only did it shine before but behind 
As well; it stood behind the tear and saw 
Its mother's cheeks of rosy shades of red 
And white and blue, environed with the 

golden 
Earrings; with beautiful curls a floating 

with 
Silk ribbons, blistered with the raving tear. 
"I, too, was shock'd to see this shining 

face. 
Illumined with the rays of eternal hope, 

42 



A metamorphos'd into a swarthy pale 
By that low tear ! When it fell to her lap 
It gave the screams and cries, which have 

been heard 
Throughout the ages; and which shall still 

be heard. 
When it became a tiller of the soil 
It bath'd itself in blood of sacred smile, 
Which was the faithful minder of the sheep. 
This tear was Cain, the living smile was 

Able. 
"The last I saw of the vagabond, when he 
Had pour'd his brother's blood from palm 

of hand 
Into the mouth of the Earth, was: when 

he had reach'd 
The entrance of the land of Nod in East; 
Where he with painful sight did gaze out 

o'er 
A wilderness of waste; where sun did rise 
At ten and set at two ; where swamps would 

allow 
His head yet to be seen; where fish hawks 

would 
Strive to steal his eye balls; where frogs 

were in 
Great stacks; where men were scarce; 

where fish swim not. 
I saw no more of pitiful Cain ; I left 
Him in this place to stay, to see him no 

more. 
This is my second dream, and only a 

dream." 

I dry my pen and calmly lay it down, 

Unbend my back and turn from writing 
desk, 

Unseat myself and proudly walk to front 

43 



Thro' arch of ferns to be baptized in the 

light 
Of the stars; to soothe my exhausted mind 

once more. 
The curls of maiden moon don't dangle 

o'er 
My frosty head ; they are concealed beneath 
The Earth; I content myself to look still 

further, 
And thus I find a higher light, by far. 

Oh what unspeakable pleasure to inhale 
The unadulterated breath of nature! 
My mind scoops up flecks from the heavenly 

breeze 
To corroborate its intellectual force; 
To put on wheels the mountainous speedy 

thoughts ; 
To make hand holts for other, stronger 

brains. 
The transparent, transcendental starlit 

sky 
Allows the moon to loom up and unfold 
Her sunlit wings and fan away the dark. 
Before the porter said, "Bed time isn't it?" 
We were reserve on porch; I spoke, at 

last: 

"The majesty of these clever bodies has 
Inflam'd your swimming thoughts of imagi- 
nation ; 

And will you not express your heart to 
me?" 

Rephed he, "Yes." "Say on" I said. The 

porter, 
The count, resum'd : "Superior is a man 
To this huge moon." My thoughts were 

paralyz'd. 

44 



"Oh how!" The count repli'd: "A man can 

shine 
Around entire world at one time; moon 

can't." 
A pause. I read many sentences from this 
Stiff statement to myself. Again he said: 
"The words of good books are like houses 

in time 
Of sleets that have long fingers of brittle 

ice; 
They have long tags of inspiration cling'ng 
To them; when broken off more comes in 

. place. 
I then assur'd myself that he thought deep, 
And broad, aloft — My thoughts were 

drown'd in deep. 
My judgment found no jargon in his speech. 
Refrain did we to longer talk this night. 
'l was mildly touch'd on shoulder by my 

friend ; 
A whisper: "You may retire if you wish." 

I gave 
Heed reluctantly; for I was sure, to breathe 
Fresh air and gaze at brilliant planets 

were 
By far, a greater peace. Fs ushered in 
A snug trim room; I was sure that I would 
Find good bed; instead I found the mother 

of 
Sweet comfort, which did nourish me till 

morn. 

She unfolded her bosom of the soundest 
sleep. 

I whiled away the sweetest night of lifel 
What joy my soul was filll'd with no one 
knows ! 

45 



My pains and aches got gone; My life in- 
creased. 
This rare night turn'd its back on me, and 
mom 
Touched me with fairest hands, but thin and 

cool. 
I loathe thee, morn, pass; tears ope my 

eyes 
When velvet, plushy night did say to morn 
"Adieu!" These parting friends bestir'd my 

life. 
The light knew that its victory was dead 

sure. 
At last, I gave consent to expostulation 
Of light; because its explanations were 
So pleasing and promising. I saw the deeds 
Awaiting doing, many; flash'd before 
My eyes amost like diamonds in the sun. 

I rose and found near by a bowl and pan 
For which to lave my hands and face, which 

I 
Did, that I might wash away the morning 

sleep. 
And be a seer of my daily chores. 
When face was washen I was taken to 
A cozy dining room — My eyes were yet 
Affected by the bright red Eastern sun — 
Where wall was hung with modest hand- 
made drawings; 
Where sundry flowers drove stale odors out; 
Where I sat on a cushioned seat to eat; 
Where napkins seem'd to say "please touch 

me not." 
The pantry fill'd the room with balmy fra- 
grance ; 
The sideboard smoothed the air with silver 
ware. 

46 



Around the table sat the count, a son, 
And countess in a queenly dress, and I; 
The noblest, richest, humblest group of 

souls 
I ever saw. Cajolement found no home 
Here ; not a pedant was there to be found. 
Before we ate the mellow breakfast of 
The outspread delicious viands, we took 

time 
To list to benediction, which's as pure, 
It seem'd, as that one at Bethsaida. 
The countess didn't forget to put dough in 
• bread. 

Neither complain'd of what she had. Fll say: 
No one had to tell joke to pass away 
The time. Domestic science was here, at 

best. 
Without description of the things we ate, 
I'll say again that I thought Christmas had 
Crept up before I thought. If it were possi- 
ble 
To hear a person think, you could have 

heard 
Me think a mile: "This is the best repast 
I ever ate." I said while leaving table 
To the meek, fair woman that I had been 

fill'd 
With courteous thoughts; I suffer from the 

want 
Of vivid appreciation of such meals; 
The zenith of my eulogizing power 
At this time was found, and that I must 

return 
To desk to write the third, last of my 

dreams. 

As I glibly walk'd to desk to write my 
dream, 



I had a eomposition of good thoughts, 
Which I hadn't time to write ; tho' them I 

kept. 
I now capitulate to pen and desk, 
Which is my master, and my body's ruin. 
"0 righteous Earth, this bright and shin- 
ing day 
Gives to your son a prerogative to clothe 
My last dream in black ink on these white 

pages, 
Which, flutters in my mind till I can't rest. 
As you, I look to end of dream with delight. 
Blush not, Earth, at the vanity in this 

dream ; 
Content youself maternal Earth; unmask 
Your eyes of tears; see bright, hear plain, 

and think. 
One thing knows son he's in good care; but 

where ? 
"0 Earth, I write with fear and trem- 
bling. Why? 
Because the Christ has me, sees me, hears 

me. 
A cat has soft and tender feet; they walk 
On feet like time; no noise: and with the 

same 
Merciful feet from which he spreads keen 

claws. 
And nabs the vermin in the crib with ire. 
So does our Lord ; with same pure hands of 

love 
Which He lifts up and heals the wounded 

with. 
He takes us in death at discretion of 
His will. He comes, we never know just 

when. 

48 



"I fear we are too far from God 

Earth- 
When this I explain I'll start to write the 

dream — 
Once I was in a stable in time of 
A storm; I saw a crack, but it was small 
Little thro' which I saw ; but stepping near, 
I found I could see much. From Christ too 

far. 
Where was the apostle Peter when he 

curs'd? 
Now hear, Earth, the torturous dream of, 
- Hell." 

"I dream'd that Satan tried to cook me in 
A stove, heat seven times as hot as it 
Was wont to be heat. His most wicked men 
Were in charge of this great range; they 

were base 
And strong; they thought they knew it all. 

'Alas!' 
Ejaculated I; for I could see 
That which they couldn't, I knew their fatal 

end. 

They agitated me like hydrophobic 

Dogs; they maneuver'd like delirious 

snakes. 
I judg'd that they had come from the jun- 
gles of 
Morocco, where were once the cannibals, 
And infidels among whom they were 
chiefs. 
"Around this dreadful stove lay cigar- 
ette 
Smokers a thousand deep ; all they could do 
Was puff and blow a stream of smoke and 
fire; 

49 



Their fingers were like yellow burning 

stubs — 
I read on each pale finger nail 'too late.' 

"I saw an infidel go driving off 
With a wagon load of vile whoremongers 

who 
Had been parsh'd alive like pork meat 

skins; their heads 
Were jolted from their bodies on the wagon 
As corn in shuck is jolted from a tip-top 
Load as farmer hauls from field o^er rocks 

and ridges. 
But still went up the hideous yells and 

shrieks. 
My monologue was: these whoops'll ever 

sound. 
"This infidel was a picklock, a pickpocket 

of 
The highest type. He started when he was 
Quite young; his first dismounting stone 

from Christ 
Was: *it seems,' the next 1 can't,' the next 

1 won't.' 
His elocution was most familiar with 
The latter two. The result of his bad 

works 
Sets him on a hot and vicious wagon of 
Eternal Hell to drive with burning lines. 
"When I had got this tragical view of 

ruin; 
When I had reach'd, I thought, the greatest 

peril. 
The fierce old serpent, who beguiled Eve, 
Thrust me into the baking closet where 
Men stood articulating sentences of 
Discord, disdain, distress, regret, remorse. 

50 



My ordeal threw the rays of disappoint- 
ment 
Around the yellow eyes of Satan; he 
Almost was in a paroxysm: because 
No hairs were sing'd, not one; no clothes 

were burn'd. 
All he could read from my shining face 
Was: "I will serve the Lord and Woo his 

spirit." 
To Satan I was like a statue of ice 
Unmeltable. Prevaird did I o'er him 
In den of death and fire among the gnaw- 
* ing, 
The griping, wheezing, hellish spirits of 

death ; 
Therefore said he, 'Come out, be free from 

us.' 
I saw the gloaming of a new, bright day; 
Then rolPd away the burdon from my 

back; 
Then shouts of victory inhabited: air. 
In my ecstatic triumph I took time 
To look back where I had been; it only 

made 
It hotter for those demons of the rack." 

You can't conjecture how bad I did want 
To leave this old leviathan's harsh grave. 
I soon saw hopes swinging on the lips 
Of mercy, heard them ringing in my ears 
Like church bells on a happy Sunday mom. 
I felt just like the negro slave when free. 
As that grand wandering wind came rush- 
ing on 

I beheld in far off west a bright red glory. 
Such a gift, a boutiful boon was this re- 
lief. 

51 



I fold my writings, seal them in envel- 
ope 

On which I place a heavy postage stamp; 

Withdraw myself from desk, and skip with 
pride 

To village office where I mail'd the packet. 

Around I whirl'd at office, back to count's 

Home. Before I had returned I saw to left 

A cluster of leafy trees thro' which noon- 
day ^ 

Sun fiash'd its brilliant light to stir their 
cheer. 

These healthful trees kept no company 
with the dead. 

They had prodigious time to seat great 
flocks 

Of feasting birds. The swinging boughs 
mov'd slowly 

On feathery wings of gentle breeze and 
rock'd 

To and fro the singing birds of innocence. 

They breath'd the antiquated air of long 

Ago, and blended it with notes of thrill. 

They shone their clear-cut eyes about my 
frame 

With fear and trembling. They were to 
this home 

Protection, like a martin to his gourds; 

They fiogg'd the sailing doubts and fears 
to death 

Before they reach'd this home of philan- 
thropy. 

They murder'd all my doubts while in 

This constellation of most beautiful trees; 

I felt as sinless as a butterfly. 

Forthwith I went back to the count's rich 
home 

. 52 



Where was a luxurious dinner table, like 
That one so vividly described by Irving, 
A waiting to give welcome to a stranger. 
Who slightly smiled, if not in face, in heart. 
The nooning in this lovely Indian sum- 
mer ^ 
Grafted in me a book of future aim; 
Between each bite the count took time to 

say 
A word small 'nough, large 'nough, that, 

fits the reader 
Exactly. Like a dentist cutting gums 
From tooth, they cut discouragement from 

me. 
brighten did my face! while feasting on 
These stout uplifting words of good advice. 
They bridg'd a hopeless life with lasting 

vim. 
New steps were made; success was reach'd 

and kept. 
Now dinner is o'er, the word, adieu, floats 

up 
On mind, which, must be said with thanks 

and praise. 
The early evening sun did pour its gleams 
Around my glimmering eye of boundless 

faith, * '■ 

As I crept off from this sweet habitation, 
Where streaming founts of Godly grace 

gave vent 
To me. A step or two is made. I stop! 
A geranium stood on piazza on my right. 
Which, said: "Look up; go up; stay up: 

that's all"— 
These words rung in my ears like curfew 

tolls. 
Oh listen, weary heart to flower's phrases! 



More steps are made, I find a halo of 
Sweet violets, which dread to see me cross. 
Tho' I did raise my dime-shin'd yellow shoes, 
With bran-new suit, as I stepp'd o'er the 

hedge. 
With tips of toes a shining like new 

money 
In midday sun, I left a crippled place 
On these pure flowers of the lovely border. 
Let us not stain a flower of our age; 
But paint them with a breath of lifelike 

hues. 
I pass on from this home thro' woods 

and fields. 
Across the dells and hills in dreamy paths, 
Where yelling cries and wheezing sounds 

are heard; 
Where no voice of the human tongue had 

ever been; 
Where huge fir trees did flash a wild and 

nervous 
Eye on me. They shrunk 'neath a cloud of 

fear. 
And spoke with their fluttering tongues, 

"Our end is here!" 
They yielded to my words a dark gloomy 

shade 
In which I was, compared to modern shades 
Of trees, like chigoe. Uncouth was gossip of 
Those trees. With lighten'd step I move on 

to 
Front with a careful ear. I look this way 
And that, but see no apparition. In 
About one hour I cast a wistful but 
A fearful eye away out before, where I, 
As sun was swinging low in distant west. 
Saw in a smoky, dismal, lonely dale, 

54 



A perpendicular stream of climbing high 
Smoke, which became a target for my eye. 
All looks were drawn that way till I was 

there. 
The closer I drew to this smoke, the better. 
When I was in a mile of this IdIuc smoke, 
I heard a roaring that delay'd my tens. 
When thought reflected back to me; no 

harm 
Is there; this is a creek a rolling o'er 
A wooden dam where wheat and com is 

ground. 
Go on and share a night with generous 

miller ; 
And lose your weary body in his soft 
And puffy feather beds, and happy boy 

be. 
So trudging on I went a stumbling o'er 
The stones by side of rivulet which trickl'd 
Down cove: at last, I came to pond where 

ducks 
Were numerous as were the stars in sky; 
Where frogs did fill the dusky air with 

notes 
Of reproach and throw the lulling shades of 

night 
Full of imaginary apparitions, which 
Clung to my coat cue with leech stick- 
ing grips. 
On down the brink of pond I go till race 
Is reach'd, which, cuts thro' old red hill, 

and deep. 

As I march down the snake-trail race, I 
hear 

The dull sound of the whirling burr. Be- 
hold! 
A little lower down stands a cotton gin, 

65 



A thought of Eli Whitney humming low. 
But first I visit mill, where mealy miller 
Greets me with flaring eyes of wonder that 
Upsets his drowsiness till the midnight 

hour. 
It had been so long since a stranger had 
Been there, that chickens cackled as I ap- 

proach'd. 
When sun had uncloth'd itself of light, 

retir'd 
Behind the blue hills of the west, and left 
Us in the gloaming of a lonesome place; 
Where only the crooning of this rocking 

mill 
And the pitiful lowing of unfed milch 

cows 
Could be heard, th' miller stopp'd the water 

wheel. 
So still; we leave the ghostlike mill to 

sleep 
Till morn; and as we grope to miller's 

house 
We come to creek with foot-log anchored 

on 
Either brink of stream with old rusty 

plow 
Chains, which make her safe in time of a 

fresh ; 
And as we walk this swinging log we see 
Thro' sycamore trees the darting, shooting 

stars. 
We stop, but soon we start again. We 

cross 
In safety and reach his old timey house, 
Where he seats his guest near by keg of 

walnuts, 
And says: "Rest easy while I carry in 

56 



My morning wood, Fll soon be in to talk 
With you." I hardly take time to look up, 
(As I sit by a sparkling hickory fire) 
When miller 'turns from his nightly chores; 

I had 
Already great piles of hulls round me 

such 
That if I had quit just then, I might have 
Got out with ease. A little later I back out 
And find myself a standing by a heaping 
Table, where I reseat, reeat and rest. 

Now supper is o'er we forget to eat 
Till breakfast smiles a broad and hearty 

smile. 
Around that huge log fire I hear the 

tales 
Of ancient times. No history do they know, 
So I devote myself to theme as best 
I can; I tell traditions of my early 
Days; I make, happy them and pass away. 
The crowing cock reminds us that bed 
Time was at hand. We scattered to our 

beds 
And slept a sleep so sound that we're tir'd 

at morn. 
I lit out of bed next mom and heard 

mill 
A running silence out of this still place 
With dull murmuring voices like colonial 

spinning 
Wheel twisting thread. Tho' all was well 

with me 
As they hadn't eaten breakfast yet. I heard 
A tinkling bell to which responded I. 
The sun made moving pictures in the steam 
Which flow'd from my two cups of coffee as 
I ate. It shone not thro' a window pane ; 

67 



But thro' shed door and cracks, which made 

me shake. 
I try, but fail, to vacate table of 
Its food; I learn that I must go and leave 
The table full. My wallet has no regret, 
When I deprive it of a friendly dollar. 
I shake their innocent, honest hands and 

leave 
Them with smiles on their faces. I, too, felt 

good. 
Away I went. Again I found myself 
In forests broad and deep, where din was 

not; 
Where spoors of wildest beasts insinuate 
Desire of beasts for human gore. I went 
As far as I could go ; my nerves f ail'd me. 
At last, I threw myself on altar of 
The Christ. I never cower'd so low before. 
"0 Lord, I am the sacrifice for my sins; 
I bring myself to Thee, submitting all. 
I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou are Christ, 

the God 
Of Abraham, of Isaac and of Jacob. 
Lord, I believe that mercy has an end; 
I believe, according to your book You will 
Extend your mercies yet, if I will do 
Just right." About this time out came a 

lizzard 
From under bended knees, which was a sign 
To show me that I had, yet, hopes worth 

while. 
I did not want to pray at times: but I 
Kept on ; I felt that all was vain, pray'd on. 
The stormy winds pass'd o'er my head and 

struck 

The exalted, dignified; like trees upright. 
They are the first to fall in time of storm; 

68 



They make the humble crippl'd tree their 

pillow. 
This prayer built up more genius than a 

world 
Of men could have built in a million years, 
Yea, all eternity. Our God is Master 
Over all; He gives or takes, destroys or 

makes. 
Man is to be so great, none can be God. 
Some say: "If he had gone thro' college, he 
Would have been so much greater." True it 

is; 
But some men can be as great as God wants, 
Or as great as He intends for man to be. 
Without the walls of a college swinging to 
His brain. Do right; serve God; be led by 

Him ; 
Learn all you can; trust Him; love Him; 

that's all. 
A preternatural flight was being made 
During this prayer. I found myself at 

threshold 
Of that old weather beaten house of ruin, 
Where Christ was knocking still, and yearn- 
ing for 
Those withering souls to ope the door to 

Him ; 
Oh, longing with a bleeding tender heart ! 
When I awoke from all my sins. The way 
Was easily trod; because of trust in God. 
With dread, tremendous dread, my eye, 

again, 

Peep'd thro' my eyelashes, and saw in that 

old house 
Of degradation, dismay; of sulphury odors, 
Which was a regret that tongue can never 

tell; 

69 



For I knew that my last trip was not made. 
I thought of making Tarshish my last 

stop; 
Then I thought of the weeds that might 

surround 
My neck as they did Jonah's ; but spirit good 
I let be ruler of my life, and thus 
Went on despite myself into the walls 
Of notorious demolition, where men go 
For defrayment of their own conduct, while 

in 

This world; where reeking seas surmount 
the heads 

Of subtle demons: for this was my duty. . 

None were there, who, could get a sprink- 
ling from 

The heavenly orion of the firmament. 

The nearest peace they were, was when 
thier feet 

Were pester'd by the devils of this Hell, 

Who, drew their nails from feet with tweez- 
ers hot. 
While in this place of oppression, where 
soil was 

Too poor for hope to grow; where soil was 
made 

Of the hottest ashes of Hell, I clung to 
Christ. 

He bore me o'er the deepest pain with ease ; 

He cloth'd me with the paraclete that I 

Might not be sing'd by flaming blazes of 

Eternal fate. Because I clung to Him, 

He wrote just under my name with unfad- 
ing 

Ink these words: "Mercy given to this serv- 
ant." 

About this time He stamped in my sad heart 

60 



The word FAITH. These big letters were 

raised high 
Enough, till they were felt without a doubt 

I am led out of molested house, at last, 
With feet on higher ground. Farewell, fare- 
well! 
When I get out Christ says: "Help knock 

at door." 
He turns Himself around and points to 

West 
With these amazing words: "The world, a 

great 
Pond, which is frozen O'er. Your duty is 
To break the ice and fish for lost, lost men ; 
To tell the cold, cold members of the church 
Were they to walk on this icy pond, the ice 
Would freeze beneath their feet twice as 

thick as it is." 
The more we knock the more we get. Let us 
Beat door with all our might and break the 

ice 
And fish while it is day; for night is nigh. 
When I look'd out o'er lands, I saw a farm 
With center rich in soil; but covered with 
Water, like swamps. It made it untendable. 
Just so with hearts of sin. We need to drain 
Our boggy hearts, that they might make a 

yield 
For Him Who died on cross to give us life. 
Now that my eye is back at home in 

peace. 
My ear to my surprise says to my eye: 
"Did you not know that I was by your side 
Thro' all your trials in yonder world of 

death? 

I heard things that you, eye, could not 
see, 



1 heard, as your eye saw, a man in arms 
Of Christ, while you were in one of those 

worlds 
Unknown to man, a crying, 'Glory, glory!' 
Why so? Because Christ had swum out into 
A sea of lost men's blood and had rescu'd 
Him. Christ swam from this sea of desola- 
tion 
With one hand in the blood, the other in 
The air with man in hand. Who will go out 
Into the sea? Bear in your mind that there 
Are sharks in sea of ruin. But listen to 
The word of God : He who shall lose his life 
For my sake shall find it. Embark today." 
The ear could hear before it left this 

world 
Lost men a living backward till * * * no end. 
They fell because they had no ken of 

Christ ; 
Because they had no eyes in back of head: 
And not because they were loaded with 

good heavy 
Thought; for that would unbalance some 

men like 
A sack of fertilizer would a lad. 
Let us live face before and peace implore. 
Who hears the voice of Him at door? 

Who, says: 
"If any man hear by voice, and ope the 

door, 
I will come into him, and will sup with 
Him, and he with me." Who wants stool to 

feast 
With Christ? Let us vacate this house of 

death. 
And leave an empty house, Uke Christ did 

tomb. 

62 



Then throw a speedy eye on God's great 

throne 
To see the jasper walls of heaven fill'd 
With saints a sparkling like a diamond in 
The sun; to see the rainbow colors glisten 
With pleasing tints of crimson, which, are 

viands 
To the soul. When here we get we have 

free fare. 
No heartless conductor to put us off train; 
We glide thro' rich perfumes on wings of 

love ; 
Inhale the fragrance of the rose of life, 
Which, has no petal to fade 'way and die. 
Let Christ tranpose your life, as X's, 

from this. 
And see the change: for tire there's rest; 

for pain 
There's ease; for death there's life— be that 

to thee. 
Drive wooden pegs with wooden hammer, 

drive 
Steel with steel; not steel tacks with wood, 

and you 
Will have the sense the Christ would have 

you have. 
With "watch as well as pray" I bid you 

adieu. 

—By A. G. MELTON. 
January 3, 1917. 



63 



THE WEIGHT 



The thoughtless men, who hold us down, 
Get from this world a sulky frown : 
So on them not do I depend; 
Because our works they do offend. 

Not because they wear a saintly gown 
Does God give them a home and crown. 
*Tis better to have our own way. 
Than list to choking words of delay. 

Some say, "Go slow" or "I don't know;" 
They have no vim and cannot grow. 
The Lord we must let be our guide. 
And walk gently by His holy Side. 



GOD'S MEETING 



God gave the Grove a meeting, 
Which was a holy treating. 
The wondrous God thou art, 
Who won the sinner's heart. 

Each day we met to preach; 
To sing and pray and teach. 
We're bound in Godly love; 
Because our thoughts were above. 

It began at the Saviour's feet; 
And its close was good and sweet. 
The result we left with God, 
And from the Church we trod. 

64 



THE STONE 



Just think about the stone: 

It makes the razor hone; 

'Tis harder than a bone. 

In every land it is found ; 

But most on higher ground, 

Where hunters hang around. 

Some rocks are cloth'd with moss. 

Some too high and rough to cross; 

While others we may toss 

Even with a slender arm. 

In rock there is no harm, 

Tho' they be on the farm. 

They make the miller's dam; 

They show no sign of sham; 

But say, "Fm what I am." 

A house of stone lasts long, 

If it is not build wrong; 

Because 't is firm and strong. 

With man the same is true, 

If truth he does pursue ; 

Because he's of the right crew. 



"A LONG RAIN" 



The falling rain 

Throws its breath of cold air 
Around our room, a study hall; 
With window up I need a shawl, 

Though I await the fair 
To relieve my pain. 

65 



The steaming fog 

Push me behind the door; 
The shatt'ring leaves bring to my ear 
A groaning sound of doef ul fear ; 

The river's voice does roar, 
But drowns no frog. 

The splashing drops 

Reach in around my pen, 
They make me didder with a shake; 
They make me dream of winter flake; 

They keep me in my den, 
And drown the crops. 

A continual mist 

Of heavy clouds from heaven 
Sends dampness to a land of mud, 
Which makes dry land put forth its bud. 

Our soil is now a leaven — 
And some 're in a twist. 

The day grows dark; 

But light will some day come 
And drive away the damp cold time: 
Then I shall give a better rime; 

For I shall not be numb 
In a muggy ark. 

It rains with ease. 

While we write off our thought. 
The rivers fill the seas with drink. 
We may be on the river's brink 

Of life; if we're not caught, 
We'll do worse than freeze. 



"THE GOAL" 



Fm in a world of things 
Of which, I am the least; 

But I, in hope and faith, 
Await a future feast. 

Fm searching for a base 
On which to place my pen ; 

Fm looking for a goal 
That can be reached by men. 

There is a time in which 
To reach the distant mark; 

To get there, we must see 
Like owls, through thickened dark. 

Since I began this piece, 

A week has gone on by; 
And yet, I look to see 

The place where I must fly. 

Reluctant is the march 
By him who wants to dodge 

His just rewards ; he's aware 
There's a Hell in which to lodge. 

As swift as I may go; 

As fast as I may fly, 
There'll still be One in front 

On whom I must keep my eye. 

Let me be great or small; 

Let me be good or bad, 
I can stop not the time, 

Let it be sweet or sad. 

67 



Where is our future home? 

Is thought by you and me; 
If we are ready now, 

We shall have a place with Thee. 

Between the steps of time 
We filll not with the pure; 

And doubts we retain by this, 
Regarding not the cure. 

We may be men or babes 
In the arms of speedy time. 

I can't interpret this; 
So I leave it to the Sublime. 

On time that walks with us 
We are so small and light; 

Till tracks are made so dim. 
That we see them day nor night. 

Were we strong men of might, 
Time would fatigue and tire; 

It would go not so fast. 
Because its feet would mire. 

Each day is a step of time, 
One by one they make men; 

If rightly used, we'll not want 
To go back and live again. 



es 



"ONE THING" 



There is one thing in life for us to do, 

I wish we all might see this vision plain; 
Yet some will ask of us this: "is it who 
That has before their life a goal or aim?" 
Thought they know they must meet the 
former slain; 
So all the day, the week, the month, the 
year, 
They strive, they dig, they live and die for 
gain. 
Then it is that they die regretting fear; 
Because of Gospel truth they did not, 
would not hear. 

The one, one thing in life may mean it all. 

When money fails to hold us up or down, 

Then we profess to know on whom to call; 

The time is now to grasp the Holy Crown 

From this old world of sin and pain and 

frown. 

I am afraid they are content; just that 

Alone, wil stop and kill a bright renown 
For future hope or peace — They slept, they 

sat. — 
The call of God was turn'd away and was 
laughed at. 

The big thing is the faith in God today. 
The only, only hope for you and me. 

When we have done as others do and say. 
We likely loose our home, which is yet to 

be. 
The ugly grin of sinful men I see 

The tough, sarcastic face and look of hate, 

68 



Which batters good on every land and 
sea. 
You men of God walk by the house of fate, 
Go on and on to Glory that does not abate, 

"One day is as a thousand years with God." 

One Lincoln gave the freedom to the 

slave ; 

One death will place you down beneath the 

sod; 

One year may lead you to a hopeless 

grave ; 
One Christ from God, who. His life to us 
gave. 
That we might have eternal peace and rest. 
But by His blood no other way He'll save. 
The One who stood the sorrows of the test 
Takes from this sinful world the cream, the 
gold, the best. 

One breath of life will make a heavy mist 

Of vim for him who will of it inhale ; 
It'll make cheeks red, limbs good, eyes 
strong, exist; 
Those who hold their breath are the weak 

and pale; 
They fade; Because they hit the Roman 
nail 
That cuts the flesh of Him who was and is ; 
They make a crashing storm of wind and 
hale 
To try the princely Lamb. — Oh, such a quiz ! 
And yet, these men by faith can be forever 
His. 

One State of thirteen was aright and free; 
The other twelve were later set in line; 

70 



Emancipation, now on land and sea, 
The end of strife was come in peace 

divine ; 
And both grey and blue sat around the 
shrine. 
In friendly terms they met the end of hate ; 
In freedom's land of wealth we feast and 
dine. 
We enter life anew without debate 
To walk and march with God in at the nar- 
row gate. 

-It was one germ of german dirt or dust. 
That fills our land today with joy and 
hope ; 
'Tis wafted to and fro, to bring us trust 
In God, to rid us from the binding pope; 
So I've no right to be a stealthy mope. 
One speck of light shines further in the 
night, 
Than does a great Sun in the day. A trope 
For Luther here I use to show his might. 
He had the endless grace of God with which 
to fight. 

The one United States is at the top; 

Because John Smith and others, (Well 

can we 

Give them the honor for the blood we sop). 

Who sailed o'er the rough and rugged sea. 

Stood firm with fervent toil oft bread, no 

tea; 
He had one time in which to speak and act. 

We have one opportunity to see 
What we can do. — Don't wait. This is the 
fact; 

71 



Think what you may, our life will be a 
written tract. 

Our great land is a stone. It had not been 
Struck till Columbus came; he gave one 
lick, 
And make a spark, which barely could be 
seen, 
It is now burning in a candle stick, 
Exalted, giving light with force so quick ; 
One deed will glitter in the endless age. 
A tongue can make a blunder smoothe 
and slick. 
That, will surprise us on the judging page; 
If all do right, we'll get to see an empty 
cage. 



"THE AUTUMN' 



This Monday morn in the autumn sun. 
While reading a book, I take delight 

In stopping this to relieve my heart 
By writing lines of praise for light. 

Oh, how bright is the morning sun ! 

Too bright for me with words to describe ; 
And oh how soft the north wind is, 

Which makes a moving pen for the 
scribe. 

It is now that leaves forsake the trees. 

And we hear, as the wind in early morn 
Tumbles and hurls them through the wood. 

Them roar, like shucks from the frosty 
com. 

78 



The tough and dingy grass and weeds, 
Now hear on moon and starlit nights 

Of the obdurate and crushing frost, 
Who makes death sure in his biting fights. 

Tho' he can kill by night the grass, 
He isn't able to put to death the hedge; 

Only returns the hedge a smile, 
When frost has us'd his greatest sledge. 

The lonely crib and barn, it seems, 
Flinch from the pinching frosty fall; 

They seem to say: "How sad! how sad! 
Is the fate of fall; it tastes like gall." 

The meadows far away we see 

With shocks of corn and stacks of hay; 
To our delight they fill our barns 

With food that helps us on the way. 

This fall wind keeps whispering of the cold; 

It drives away the August heat. 
And leaves us amid a fall of pride. 

And brings a chance for fresh hog meat 

The rich, but fading leaves of cotton 
Color the fields with a sweeten'd tint 

Of yellow, brown and deep dark red. 
Which to us of their tender love hint. 

When fall returns to us its gifts. 
Potatoes, apples, bread, and nuts, 

We should be thankful for its free heart; 
Because we can eat these in our snug 
huts. 

78 



Fall drifts from cool to cold as ice; 

It turns us loose to wait for spring 
In bitter sleets of snow and hail, 

Where tremble we as a fiddle string. 



"THE REAPER" 



The wavy, swelling waves, 

Which flutter to and fro, 
Entice the reaper who saves 

The wheat that does gently grow. 

The rich, ripe, golden grain. 

Which rustle while the wind blow, 
Is sav'd by labor and pain ; 
As all the wise men know. 

As the sun comes up in the East 
The reaper I see with his tool 

Preparing for the great feast. 
Yes, reaping for a stool. 

When he has cut all the day. 

Yet he sees plenty more 
That he needs to slay ; 

For it was ripe long before. 

He reaches far each way. 
And cuts a swath of wheat ; 

It he expects in the tray. 
When severed from the cheat. 

He gathers in the grain. 

While others sit at ease; 
He thinks of final gain 

That ease can never seize. 

74 



THE STAR 



I look afar in West, 
I turn, then, to the North; 
Again I turn to South, 

And yet see not the best. 

With wistful, lonesome eye 
I turn in haste to see 
The sparkling, brilliant light 

In Eastern azure sky. 

^n angel says to me. 
When I saw this great light: 
"This is the Son of Man, 

Who'll walk the restless sea." 

Our souls run o'er with joy 
To see this Star so bright 
On this Christmas day, 

Which gives hope to enjoy. 

A merry Christmas day 
Is where we find the light 
Of this immortal star; 

Where sin hasn't part to play. 



"NO SUBJECT'' 



I don't know what to write, 
A word I have not to say; 

But I am in the sight 
Of good on this trying day. 

75 



My thinking will not start, 

I scribble but loose out, 
I have a heavy heart; 

So I write to keep off doubt. 

Though I am all alone, 

I use my hand and pen 
In fear and doubting tone; 

I'll write the Lord knows when. 

I look, I think, I fear, 

Of what the world knows not. 
My friends are near and dear — 

Fm now the smallest tot. 



"A BEAUTIFUL SPIRIT" 



What is so sad to me 
Is: to think of grandmother. 

Who has gone on to Thee, 
Whose life was spent for the other. 

Then went away my mother 

To the City of the Gold, 
Long, long before grandmother 

Was lifted from the cold. 

In a moaning, softened voice, 
I hear grandmother say, 

"My all, my hope, my choice, 
Is for a sweet home today." 

To all she gave a gift, 
To me she was so sweet; 

And to God she did drift- 
May we in heaven meet. 

76 



Her sorrow and her trouble 
Was beyond my careless eye. 

My life may be a double, 
If so, I ask not why. 

She lost her natural light, 
Though she went on the way; 

She clung to all the right, 
Until, beneath the clay. 

Grandmother had a heart 
Of love for me and all; 

She gave to me my start. 
Lest I should get a fall. 

All was to her a friend. 
None was to her a foe, 

Her spirit did not bend 
111 pain and grief, nor woe. 

Her life was full of pain, 
Her death was only ease; 

On her life was no stain, 
Though it was of disease. 

Her lengthy race was run. 
Her dreary way was trod ; 

Her earthly life is done, 
And she is now with God. 



"THE DARK' 



When all are silent calm and still, 

I shall write out my thoughts of night; 

For I the theme get from dark air. 
Where spirits blind await the light. 

77 



The silver moon gives us no gleam, 
The low dark clouds shuts out the stars, 

The mild soft wind make us a phrase ; 
And on us, leaves the pleasant scars. 

Some how the mellow rain has come 
Thro' thicken'd light to us with pride; 

It meets with us on gentle terms 
To catch our praise from every side. 

The cool breath of an autumn rain 
Makes sweet the poet's few hours of 
sleep; 

It brings forth life to rich and poor. 
Which, holds us in the boundless deep. 

We fold our arms in the dark for rest. 
Forgetting days that are behind; 

And sink into repose 'neath toil 
For a new day, new life, new mind. 

Since night has gently passed away. 
The bright red sun slips up in the East 

To take its look at us from morn 
Till night, to tell us be not like beast. 



*THE SHADOW" 



While on my bended knee, 
I besought the thing I got. 

My faith looks up to Thee, 
Though I am but a tot. 

I got what now I feel. 

It came from God to man; 
It makes us glad to kneel 

For Christ, and do all we can. 

78 



At first to Him I clung, 

And he gave me a gift ; 
Though it may never be sung, 

I have a great uplift. 

I tried to look before; 

I once, while tired, looked back; 
I did for grace implore. 

And for help I did not lack. 

The Devil came and said, 
"Oh, man you can not stay." 

His word was lost or dead. 
So I did the better way. 

My back was to the sun. 
What was behind I didn't know. 

Yet I knew my race was run; 
Because of seed I did sow. 

In the far, far East I saw 
My shadow going that way; 

I still held to God's great law; 
And Him I didn't betray. 

At last He said, "You may go;" 
I left the place with light 

To go with Christ to and fro. 
To tell His story till night. 



*THE AIR' 



I Am now up so high in air. 
Till of the breeze I get my share; 

It is of high, it is of the pure; 
Just such that is to the sick a cure. 

79 



The wave of which is soft and cool; 

Because it's from the harmless pool. 
It goes to worlds unknown to me, 
And it patrolls the harmless sea. 

It speaks the best of words in haste; 

We hear but few that sticks as paste : 
It whirls our faces long away; 

What thank have we in night or day? 

Could we inhale the stores of life, 
As the wind, we'd be the keenest knife. 

We'd cut the rope that hangs our neck; 
And leave not of sin a splotch or speck. 

Oh man, clothe air with hope and love; 

Put on your sails for a trip above; 
Sails that with groanings may subdue 

March wind that drinks the dew. 

We make impure the air for men; 

We'll surely reach the lion's den. 
To be unlike the man of old. 

To die with deaden'd hearts so cold. 

Oh air, breathe man a song to sing; 

And "no" say to the wretched thing. 
Sing must the man his own, own song, 

Be it high or low or short or long. 

Let air be cold, let it be hot. 
Be not of doubt, like the drunken sot; 

But fight the battle of this life, 
That we may win thro' doubt and strife. 

The glorious air is heat by fire ; 

The humblest man is best to hire. 
So wher'er there's fire, there is some smoke ; 

And wher'er there's hope, there is some 
yoke. 

80 



Some air is light, and some is dark; 

Some men know not the Holy ark. 
They ope their eyes not in the day; 

And of the dark they've much to say. 

They mock and curse the golden light ; 

They doze away the time till night, 
Then they regret their sleep, too late; 

Now they must ride the wave of fate. 

The Holy air turns pale and dim; 

So does man, we loose our fath in Him. 
Let air be thick or thin with fog, 

Our minds shouldn't be like a hollow log. 



"THE MIDDLE GROUND' 



I cling to this old town; 
Because of its renown. 

I have been here two years, 
And yet I have my fears. 

I must look on before ; 
If I shall reach the shore. 

Fm glad for where I stand, 
And, where I hope to land. 

This is a goodly place 

For boys and girls to brace. 

It makes us strong and keen; 
If we'll work, we shall be seen. 

I came here only to get, 
And you know me not yet. 

81 



What 1 did when I begun 
Is now a thing of fun. . 

But now this year and next 
Gives me a harder text. 

I want to run the race, 
And make for men a brace. 

I do not see the way, 
Though I came here to stay. 

Here is a host of friends, 

And on them my way depends. 



*A DREAM" 



Deep darkness came in with a dream; 

A dream that made me see in dark, 
A dream, so strange as it may seem, 

Flutter'd in my mind like a dicing lark. 

It whirrd and jump'd, till I it kept; 

It came and went until I saw 
The picture plain, but yet I slept. 

And now in it I see no flaw. 

Could I but give in pleasant tone 

This dream, Fd be at ease. 
My letters leave me now alone ; 

And come not near for me to seize. 

And yet I can bless His Holy name, 
Who sent this dream thro' mid-night air; 

Tho' I fail, He loves me just the same.-— 
I think, I hope Til get my share. 

82 



This dream must have come from the iOfW 
And dark echoing \^Uey4eep/".; 

Where hope and faith is made to grow, 
Where I am sure I'd like to sleep. - 

I see this dream on its lonely way, 
As it walks the mossy path of fame, , 

With feet sweet, pure, as the wind of May. 
And for which I am not to blame. 



I see it as it walks the sea, 

As it climbs the rugged mountain side, 
As it knocks at my heart in me 

To speak for Him, our greatest Guide. 

I see, it with a golden crown. 

In it a star, a moon, a sun, 
No dark, no fate, no doubt, no frown; 

Therefore it makes a faithful run. 



I must run not from this, my friend. 
My dream ; but let me shake its hand. 

And walk with it to th' journey's end; 
So I may make a Christlike stand. 

The Giver from the wounded palm 
Pours love and truth for us to drink^ y; 

As the singer of a mellow psalm, 
That we may live and never sink. 

My dream was this: I thought I ate 
: iWith knife and fork the best of all,; 
Truth, Which should fill our every plat0,j 
Which, we should eat to stop a f a}! : 

83 



"THE WAT' 



Oh, how! I love to tell 

The story old of Him 
Who gave His life and blood 

For men so pale and dim. 

He was look'd for so long; 

At last, at last! He came 
With power and true love 

To make His trip of fame. 

In Bethlehem was born 
A Babe, the Son of Man, 

Who did great things; works do 
We, greater than He, can. 

The khan had not a place 
For Jesus and His friend; 

They laughed Him to scorn, 
Aiid on Him did not depend. 

Incarnate was the Christ, 
Who liv'd and died for lost 

Men; for no other way 
Could He have paid the cost. 

He had a hard, hard time, 
While here and there on Earth; 

Because He found a world 
So full of pride and mirth. 

The Pharisee besought 
The Lord to dine with him, 

He gave consent; but did 
Not fix his hands in trim. 

84 



Therefore the Pharisee 

Thought strange of God's plain plan. 
Perhaps the toiling Christ 

Had no time for bowl or pan. 

They take Him to the cross 

To kill the King of Jews, 
To pierce His hands and side, 

To blot out the Holy pews. 



THE LITTLE TREE. 



While strolling on a lonely walk, 

I saw a crookless tree. 
So slender, keen and smoothe it was, 

Too little for a tree. 

The sapling I could not knife down, 

Because of where it stood. 
The barrier place was life for it. 

And yet it's living wood. 

Be grounded like the little tree, 
Down deep, far from your foe, 

That you may stand in every fight, 
On every heel and toe. 

The gully in which it was safe 

Bore me from it away. 
I know the tree could not but smile; 

As it has hope in the clay. 

If like this tree, you be firm and straight 

Old Satan'U see you first. 
And try his best to cut you down 

In his great hour of thirst. 

85 



How easy, it is to Behold, 

Amid a world of hate, 
A life so straight and pure like the 

For it shines soon and late. 



tree 



Around the sapling was the briar/ 
The cane, the shrub, the vine— 

These I car'd not to see; ^ 

Because of them the tree will shine. ^ 

If men are true, are right and straight, 
They too will stand the crave 

Of sinful men, unreached by them, 
As Gareth did, the knave. 



"THE ROCKY KNOLL." 



I am now on a rocky knoll 
On which I met a faithful soul; 
Here was a father's love for me, 
And 'tis here where I like to be. 

Here life is spent like gentle breeze, 
No hearts are found here apt to freeze ; 
And here is overwhelming love 
That is coming from the heaven above. 

This is a tender child-like place, 
It has a forceful gleam of grace, 

This isn't too much for me to say; 

Because I'm here from day to day. 

I shall remember the rocky knoll. 
As long as life in me may roll. 

Though I be in -the foreign land; 

I sh'll not forget this little band. 

86 



Here on this knoll I find no strife, 
And here I've found by sweetest life, 
Which is a rich and glorious gift 
Of Light for such as me, a drift. 

The flinty knoll I quickly saw, 
Which was to me a magnetic draw; 

So it has me Fm glad to say, 

And here right on I'd be proud to stay. 



"A BURDEN" 



I can't tell how I feel; 
This time on me walks up 
With a bitter, bitter cup 
Of the coarsest of bad meal. 

I hope here I may sift 
This meal of sour and blue. 
Though weak, I must be true 
To keep the living lift. 

Now, I can not be still; 
For there's another place 
For you and me to face. 
So I must climb the hill. 

The low of low wants all ; 
It takes us on and on. 
Until we go down upon 
The ladder of the gall. 

Oh, heavy heart! pass 'way. 
Slip out in this short line; 
And make this face of mine 
To smile from day to day. 

87 



When danger slides off our back, 
We falter, stop, and stand; 
We sleep in glory land, 
And let the world go slack. 



"THE MARCH" 



Ascending, like the angel, is 
The man of God from Earth; 

He tries, he suffers pain and death. 
In this world of toil and mirth. 

The upward walk is the way for all. 
Make this your day, your year; 

The downward run is the way for none. 
Make this your hate, your fear. 

As we march up the hill of grace, 

A toe holt for those behind 
We should with fervor and warmth leaye 

Plain enough for them to find. 

The way on down that broad short road 

Some stab their wicked heel 
For the last, last time; alas, how sad! 

Poor mother is made to feel. 

Dear father, grasp your child while young; 

Lead him, teach him aright: 
Oh father ! go the right way yourself. 

And make for him a light. - 

88 



**A SUNDAY HOUR'* 



My Sunday hour 

I pass with God and man; 
I am, no never, all alone; 
I hope to be in gentle tone. 

And do all that I can 
For youth, the flower. 

My thinking hour 

Is from the morn till night 
On Sunday I stand not, sleep not; 
From day to day Fm on the trot. 

This's how I get my light 
To build my tower. 

A Godly hour, 

A stream of spreading life, 
Can wash away more sin and crime, 
Than can a year of wasted time; 

Than can a decade of strife. 
The sinful hour. 

A happy hour 

Left on the memorie's book 
Sends thought behind with gladest joy. 
This hour has in its hand no toy; 

But, ardent future look 
For a Godly shower. 



*A SMILE'' 



What I see through the window pane 
I can't describe with pen or tongue. 
I am so glad to fall among 

Such things ; for they can not be vain. 

89 



My deepest love at once was caught 
By such as whisper'd to my heart. 
It said what I can not impart; 

Oh, what a lesson ! it has taught. 

While I a letter tried to write, 
I caught a lovely summer dream ; 
And here it is in this poor theme. — 

how, I wish I might give light! 

The very air is bubling o'er 
From pleasing faces amid a bliss; 
When old, they drop the Earth a kiss, 

And say, "Fm gone forever more." 

If there could be a heavenly smile, 
Or could there be an Earthly glory, 
This great and lovely sweet, sweet story 

Would not be dead till after while. 

Now is the noon-day sun so near. 
That, it their faces feeds pale and red 
With light of living, living bread; 

And still they bring to us no tear. 

While sitting at my mid-day meal. 
Surprised I was to see in a glass 
The very thing that will some day pass; 

And for its life Fs made to feel. 

When I have done the best I can, 
I can't describe a single flower. 
It blooms and makes a cheerful hour 

For all, let him be boy, or man. 

90 



*A REALITY'* 



I once saw in a Church 

A lame child on a crutch. 
She went forth in a hop; 

Because she was lov'd much. 

Fm glad there is a God, 

A God who will us heal; 
We need His Loving Hand 

To fix on us His seal. 

In haste there was the faith 

In God, Who died to save 
The lost sheep of the land 

From an untimely grave. 

So many men stand back, 
And bite their sinful tongue ; 

This I have often done. 
While touching songs were sung. 

Not found, but lost, still lost. 
Are sinners who stand still — 
Get like the creeping one. 
And do God's holy will. 

Oh ! give your heart to Christ, 
Like this poor girl, and you 

Will proudly, gladly feel 
The sweet and heavenly dew. 



*THE WAVE" 



The unfolding gleam, 

From Him Who holds a light 
For such a creature as I am. 
Finds its way to me, being no sham, 

To raise my thought to flight,' 
To help tell my dream. 

91 



My stirring soul 

Arouse my dreaming gift 
To an over flowing tide of taste, 
Which makes me write in pushing haste 

Of my "Go ons" Of lift, 
That, makes the toll. 



The rolling wheel 

Of time turns at a rate 
That startles the open eye and ear; 
Its quick turns are to dread and fear; 

They are on time, not late ; 
As they come we'shd kneel. 



Time is no joke. 

It lingers with no one ; 
It chains us or it sets us free; 
It brought Him on and off the tree, 

Who, with God's only Son, 
Who made us our yoke. 

The rumbling wave 

Of sin reaches not the shore 
Of lofty aim, which is a bliss; 
But it'll sink, like the Judas kiss, 

Into the wide, wide door 
Of fate, the grave. 

The wave of life 

Is wafted to our home ; 
It floats on every sea of time. 
Which covers up all sin and crime, 

Through every liquid foam 
Of hate and strife. 

: 9i 



"THOUGHT" 



The flashing, new-born thought 

From founts of love and joy- 
Can easily be bought; 

But, not from man or boy. 

A thought we can not see, 
Though it leaves in the brain 

A spark of light, a key- 
To ope the door of gain. 

•> 

To think is my intention. 

I must have my own sense. 
And make my own invention 

Of thought in every tense. 

A mind should gently squirm 
Through worlds to us unknown 

On wings of the Godly Firm 
To make the hidden known. 

Good thoughts will reach afar; 

They make a lovely dream; 
I care not where they are, 

They shine a Holy beam. 

At danger's door is the drone; 

He neither thinks nor fears; 
He has no wireless Phone, 

Not even eyes or ears. 

A kind thought in English dress 
Turns rain, checks heat and cold, 

Makes men, saves life, kills stress. 
Stands straight, looks nice, when told. 

93 



"THE RIVER" 



While sitting all alone, 
I hear the river's tone, 
A low and deaden'd roar, 
Tumbling on to the shore. 
Its tides have soften'd slow; 
They have a downward flow; 
They ripple to the bank, 
Burden'd with swimming plank. 
Down comes the log, like a boat, 
With an easy, graceful float; 
Its shore, to us unknown; 
How far! it may have flown. 

Now is the mid-day hour. 

I dream of water's power 

As it wabbles o'er the shoal, 

Rolling on to its goal. 

And as I sit by its side, 

I think of Him, its guide, 

Who leads it by His Hand 

Through this Old Southern Land. 

Let it be up or down, 

We have no right to frown. 



As I look across the river, 
I see it shake and quiver; 
I see it dash and splash, 
Hauling its loads of trash. 
I'm not by its side to fish, 
But longing with a wish 
For power in a dream 
To tell of this great stream. 

94 



I have but thirty lines, 

Under the shade of pines; 

I hope that they may swim 

In the river of time to Him, 

Who walks the sinless wave 

Through death, Hell, and the grave, 

With jewels for my crown 

From every city and town. 

A tide may rise or fall, 

So can man, not one, but all. 



*THE BUMBLE BEE" 



I, once, while in my room, 

Gave to a bee his doom ; 

I did as others ought, 

I did as Melton thought. 

His agony was much. 

Though had I not a touch 

Of love for that old bee ; 

For bite and sting would he. 

Through the pane he tried to fly; 

For he saw afar the sky ; 

He made a painful roar, 

At last flew through death's door. 

He had a fearful sting, 

He had a skillful wing. 

Ah ! at the power he had. 

But made his end so sad! 

He sang his funeral song, 

He did his final wrong. 

He suck'd in the last, last hour 

The wilted faded flower, 

95 



His former cheerful hymn, 
Unlike the last to him, 
Was sung in fun and pride ; 
But from death he could not hide. 
He drank the honey dew. 
He stung the faithful few; 
He was the big bee, the guard. 
That, flew from yard to yard, 
And, flew from rose to rose; 
Then at night, slept an easy doze. 
He met his fatal pain, 
And lost the future gain; 
He wore a rich, yellow coat, 
But had the downward float. 
On wings he sail'd afar. 
But failed to cross the bar. 



His wild oats he had sown. 
Wherever he had flown; 
While here he flew with speed, 
Our help he did not need. 
He flew his worldly length. 
But had no real strength; 
He had a home sweet home 
Here on earth in which to roam. 



The grave in which he fell 
Was like a deep, dark well. 
He reached no happy shore, 
And on earth he flies no more; 
Now he is gone to stay. 
Let us watch as well as pray. 
Be not like the bumble-bee. 
And roam from sea to sea. 
Only to die of despair. 
And float not in the air. 

96 



Selected Stanzas from Various Doggerel 
Poems of My First Writings. 



Oh! do not stop, 

But keep on and on ; 
Then you will live, 

When all is gone. 



How beautiful is strength! 

But we don't even think 
To give the Christ our length ; 

And thus we often sink. 



When cheeks are plump and red. 
We fail to God to pray; 

And fall, we do, so dead 
We're soon beneath the clay. 



Oh! tar heel boy 

Make not your life a toy; 
Ope eyes and see 

What it has for you and me. 



Jehovah you cannot deceive 

In no kind of a trick; 
And in Him you cannot believe. 

If you to Him don't stick. 



Some may of humble men make fun; 

And show inferior training — 
This, parents can so easily shun, 

And money still be gaining. 



The bark, the boat, the ship 
Has room for you to stand; 

This place you should not skip. 
While your're of the Earthly band. 

. 97 



The wind may ever be so cold; 

The drizzly rain may often freeze, 
I bid you stay in the sacred hold, 

Tho' it be but a gentle breeze. 

Don't think behind; 

But think before 
Thoughts of right kind 

On sea or shore. 



98 



CHARLOTTE 

USA 



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The News Printing Housb 
charlotte, north carolina 



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